


You, Mostly

by 19chapls



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Running Away, idk???, the band is on a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19chapls/pseuds/19chapls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry talks about running away sometimes. But never quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, Mostly

Harry talks about running away, sometimes. Lying secure in Louis' arms and behind locked doors, shielding his vulnerability from the prying eyes outside. His fingers will play with Louis', not because he needs the distraction when he talks, but because he wants to. Louis' fingers are soft and golden, resting against the stark white sheets, where Harry's playing with them. He reckons he could stare at Louis' skin forever.

“Can't you imagine it?” he says, voice low and rumbling, sending vibrations from his back and down into Louis' chest and stomach. “Being free,” he whispers, sighing as he turns around in Louis' arms, just to look into his blue eyes.

Louis' face is careful, calculating Harry's every word and tone, the line of his lips hesitant and his eyes torn. He looks worried and afraid and happy all at the same time, letting blue meet green in such a beautiful way, trying his hardest to read into the golden specks hidden in Harry's irises.

“Then why don't you run away?” Louis asks, just as he does every time. But there's something so different about this time, his voice curious and afraid, instead of his usual tone of fondness. 

It's Harry's turn to look calculating, now, his eyes scanning Louis' features. He swallows before he speaks, risking a small glance down to Louis' puffy lips. “I'm scared,” he admits, looking everywhere but into Louis' eyes. “Someone will find me.” He swallows again, finally letting his eyes meet Louis'. “Someone will find me and take me back here. Back to reality.”

He drops his head down to Louis' chest as he says it, hiding from his words, and Louis tugs him impossibly closer, arms tightening around his back. Louis can feel the pain balling up in his throat, tightening his chest and pricking at his eyes, but he ignores it in favor of tugging Harry closer, burrowing his nose into the soft curls on his head.

The next morning, Harry isn't there.  
Day 1  
Louis doesn't think much of it at first, shares a private smile with himself as he makes his tea alone. Harry's done this before; gone off for a day or two, hanging out with Nick or just seemingly falling off the face of Earth. And Louis' never worried about him, knows he'll always come back. But as he plops down in front of his telly with his tea, and the silent words Harry had whispered to him last night creeps back into his thoughts, Louis can feel the worry seep into his mind. Slowly, like it's taking time trickling into all the small corners and turns of his brain, sloshing in deep ridges, and coating small rips and tears.

“Someone will find me. Someone will find me and take me back here. Back to reality.”

Louis pause in the middle of a sip as he play over the last few words of Harry's confession, listening to the slight, sad hilt in his voice at the word back and the crack in his voice at reality.

“Back here. Back to reality.”

Practically jumping out the couch, Louis waste no time in grabbing his keys and rushing out to his car, dialing a way too familiar number on his way to his garage. The loud, red rimmed beeping coming from his voice seems to tailor after his walking, the scared bounce of his step and the urging groaning from his phone melting together into one, frantic melody. His heart picks up on it and keeps a steady rhythm in the background. 

Harry doesn't pick up.  
~o~o~  
By the time he's pulling up at Harry's childhood house, he's called all the boys in the band and asked them if they've heard anything from Harry countless times. Every time he calls he gets a “No? Louis, what's going on?”, and every time he hangs up and calls one of the other boys. At one point Zayn had yelled at him and told him they would never get the chance to hear from Harry if he kept calling them, so he stopped and turned his radio, blaring the speakers to keep his mind away from Harry's words.

Now that he sits in his car outside of the old Cox/Styles' residence in silence, though, the husky words are seeping into his mind again, once again tainting the canvas he'd worked so hard on cleaning whilst on the road. He can almost see it in front of him, thick, musky liquid splattering the cream white fabric, leaving trails of worry and concern behind.

Louis decides he would never hang the painting up in his apartment. Ever.

With a sigh, he picks his phone back up and stares at his screen. There's no missing calls, and his only texts are from a worried Zayn asking him what his problem is and why he's so worried about Harry all of a sudden. Because 'after all, he does this all the time.' Louis tries to ignore the sudden pang of hurt in his chest, telling himself that the others didn't hear Harry's uncertain voice the day before.

They've never heard Harry talking about running away. At least not like Louis has. Because Louis' held him close when he's talked about nameless cities and faceless people, held him tight when Harry let's him into his mind. 

Louis understands Harry's need to run away much better than any of the other boys ever has, and it scares him how much he doesn't know right now. He doesn't know where Harry is, he doesn't know if he needs to be worried, and he doesn't know if coming to his mum's house is a good idea.

He tries to call Harry one more time before he knocks on Anne's door, just to make sure.

Harry still doesn't answer.  
~o~o~  
Anne lets him in without a greeting, her eyes switching from surprised to worried in a second when she notice he's alone. “Louis,” she says. He shoots her a small, sad smile as he shrug off his jacket and kicks of his shoes in silence. Anne doesn't say anything, just follows him into her own living room in silence, watching with hesitant eyes as he sits down on her couch and sighs loudly.

“Harry ran away,” he says, his voice tight, but clear as day. He leans forward in his seat, staring down at his shaking hands. Harry ran away. His heart feels like it's pounding in time with the three words. Harry. Ran. Away.

Harry. Ran. Away.

Anne, though, she's having a totally different reaction. Her shoulders slump in relief, and a smile stretch across her face. “Ah, he used to do this all the time when he was younger,” she laughs, grinned at the unconvinced boy. “Come on love, you must be hungry. I'll make you dinner, and then we can go sleep and call Harry up tomorrow, yeah? I'm sure he's back by then.”

And though the worry is still coiling in his stomach, he agrees and follows her, watching in silence as Harry's mum cooks together a dinner for him, in a fashion much too similar to Harry's.

Louis resists the urge to call Harry throughout the evening, but when he gets in Harry's old bed, the first thing he does is call his best friend.

Harry doesn't answer.  
Day 2  
Louis awakens slowly, his eyes taking time to adjust to the light streaming through his window. The duvet clings to his skin tightly, and Louis wonders if maybe someone tucked him in. But then he recognizes the familiar scent of cologne from the duvet he's tugged close under his chin, and his eyes snap open to take in the familiar shape of Harry's old bedroom. Louis shoots up quickly into a sitting position, eyes gazing at every part of the room he's in, looking for Harry.

He's not there.

With a weary sigh, Louis slips out of bed and tugs on the pair of jeans lying at his feet. His bare feet drag across the cold floor as he shuffles into the kitchen, and greats Anne. 

Anne's smile is bright as she places a plate of fryup in front of him, and he sighs again as he picks up his fork and digs in. “Thanks,” he mumble, making sure to lock their eyes as he says it. Anne just smiles.

“Heard from Harry?” she asks, and Louis splutters a bit, coughing as a small bit of bacon gets stuck in his throat. He swallows down a huge gulp of orange juice and shakes his head. 

“No. Have you?” he urges, taking another gulp of the liquid. 

“Not yet,” she says, smiling softly.

Louis only blinks.  
~o~o~  
He manages to not ring up his bandmates until around three pm, looking through the books and CD's Harry left behind to distract himself. He's not sure what he's looking for. Maybe a sign, or a clue on how he could find Harry – he thinks he might've read a book about something similar once – but he finds nothing out of the ordinary. Just some dust bunnies and a couple of books he would like to bring back to their apartment.

He calls Niall first.

“'Erro?”

“Hey, Niall,” Louis mumbles, sitting down on Harry's bed Indian style, and looking down at his bare feet and ankles. “Heard from Harry?”

“Nope,” Niall confirms, but he doesn't sound concerned at all. In fact, his voice has that teasing sort of hilt to it, like maybe he knows something Louis doesn't, and it's itching at his nerves. But he doesn't prod, just sighs and bites his lip.

“Alright. Tell me if you've heard from him, yes?”

“Of course, Louis.”

“Thanks,” he says, and Niall hangs up.

Later, when he calls Zayn and Liam, both conversations unfolds in pretty much the same way as Niall's.

No one has heard from Harry.  
~o~o~  
“Do you think maybe I could stay the night again?” Louis asks over an early dinner, gazing up at Anne hesitantly. “I'd just hate to not be here if he showed up. I know he misses home.”

“Of course love,” Anne says. 

And that's that.  
Day 3  
Louis doesn't leave until noon, kissing Anne on the cheek and saying he'll come visit again sometime soon; promise to bring Harry with him this time. The promise brings back the curling of worry again, but he manages to smother it down in his car on his way back to London, listening to Harry's loud, old CD's and glancing at the books sitting in his passengers seat every now and then.

When he gets back home, the flat is untouched and Louis swallows down the tight coil of worry that acts up again, telling himself to calm down.

After all, Harry's done this before. Louis' still trying to figure out just why Harry's words make this time so different. He's heard them before, all of them, but not quite in the way that Harry had said them this time. Never quite like that.

He sighs as he fishes out a Chinese take out menu from their drawer of take out menus, and orders cold noodles and shrimp cocktails.

It isn't until he hangs up he realize he's ordered for two people.  
Day 4  
He manages to hold off until noon, but then he groans loudly and picks up his phone, dialing Harry's familiar number and leaning against the counter, waiting. His heart slows down in time with the beeping of his phone again, and Louis lets his mind wander slightly as he waits for the usual 'Hey, it's Harry. I can't answer the phone right now, so leave a message for me after the tone and I'll call you back as soon as possible! Beep!'. But when the beeping stop and there's no sound of Harry's voice, Louis feels like his heart might've stopped in time with the beeping as well.

“Harry?” Louis tries, clutching his phone closer to his ear. “Harry, you there? Hello?”

There's no answer.

“Harry? Harry? Hello? Harry, are you there?!”

When there's still no answer, Louis' about to let the phone leave his air and hang up, when he hears someone draw in a shaky breath on the other line. Louis' eyes bulge and his heart picks up, his pulse beating rapidly in his ears.

“Fuck, Harry, is that you?” he asks, his voice strained and his eyes prickling, threatening to spill over.

“Yeah,” Harry croaks, his voice scratchy and unused, and Louis shuts his eyes tightly, feels the tears well up and roll down his cheeks.

“Fuck, Harry, I was so worried about you. Where are you, Harry? Are you alright? Do you want me to pick you up?”

“No, no!” Harry interrupts, his voice even croakier as he raises it. “No, I'm okay, I promise. I just have to ask something of you.”

“Of course,” Louis says. “Anything, you know that.”

“Can you please stop calling me?”

Louis sucks in a breath. “What?” he mumbles, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Can you please stop calling me?” Harry repeats, sighing. “Look, I promise I'll be back in a couple of days. I just need to... I need to think, and I can't do that if you keep worrying about me.”

“Where are you, Harry?”

“I can't tell you. But I'm okay, and I'll be back in a couple of days. Don't worry about me, okay? Please. I'll be back by the end of the week, I promise.”

“Harry...”

“Promise you won't worry about me, Louis. Promise.”

“Alright, alright, I promise,” Louis sighs, just when he's about to speak up again, two words tumble out of Harry's lips, and then he's hung up.

“Thank you.”  
Day 5  
When Louis wakes up to find that Harry's not home yet, he gets back in bed and sleep off all the worrying he's done the last couple of days.  
Day 6  
Louis spends the whole Saturday tidying and cleaning their apartment. 

He manages to not call Harry or any of the other boys all day, but when he – once again – goes to bed alone, he thinks he might have to call again if Harry doesn't show up tomorrow.  
Day 7  
Louis wakes up to a light knock on Sunday morning, and his eyes takes a couple of seconds to adjust to the light, but then the dark silhouette in his bedroom window takes shape and starts making sense to him.

It's Harry.

“Hey,” he says, casually, almost as if he'd just gone grocery shopping for a couple of minutes.

“Hey,” Louis answers with a strained voice. Louis doesn't sit up, and Harry doesn't leave his place at the doorway. They're silent, gazing at each other with tired faces until, finally, Louis speaks up. “So... Did you get to think, then?”

“I, uh... I did, yeah.”

They're silent again, none of them really bothering to speak up for a long time. But then Louis lifts the covers with a shy, questioning face, and Harry cracks a smile, scampering over to his best friend and sliding under the covers, letting Louis wrap an arm around him. And then they lie there for a while, silent.

“Where were you?” Louis asks quietly.

“There's this old, abandoned building down in Holmes Chapel. I kind of bought some snacks and water bottles to last for a weeks time and just... drove. Didn't know where I was going before I ended up there.”

“And no one knew you were there?” Louis asks, arm tightening around Harry's frame.

“Mum knew,” Harry mumbles. “But no one else, no.”

“You're Harry Styles,” Louis whines. “How the fuck do you manage to just disappear like that?”

“We're on a break, Louis.”

“I know we're on a god damn break, Harry. But you're still Harry fucking Styles.”

Harry doesn't answer. They're silent for a long time again.

“What did you think about?”

“You, mostly.”

“Me?”

“You, yeah.”

“What about me, then?”

“Do you remember what people used to think about us?”

Louis snorts. “Of course. That we were secretly dating, fucking, loving each other, yadda yadda.”

Harry smiles slightly. “Yeah. Well... I think I might like that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I might like that too.”  
~o~o~  
Harry still talks about running away sometimes.

But this time, it's with Louis.

And this time, it's allowed.


End file.
